


Like Herding Cats

by romanitas



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2956133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanitas/pseuds/romanitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke starts to wonder just how much taking care of these teenagers feels like parenthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Herding Cats

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted/prompted on tumblr [here!](http://romanitas.tumblr.com/post/106284104069/ugh-now-youve-gotten-me-into-the-100-i-politely)

“Clarke, I think I broke my finger.”

She looks up from arranging her medicines, squints at the awkward angle of the aforementioned finger. “Lemme see it,” she says, reaching over to pull the guy’s hand over for a closer inspection. Clarke frowns, because it’s definitely disfigured. “I’m not even going to ask how, but yeah, it’s broken. Wait here.”

And she gets to quick work in making a simple split for the bones, with strict orders not to use the finger as long as possible. She goes through the whole spiel quickly and efficiently, idly wondering if she’s spent too much time dealing with various levels of impalements that a broken finger doesn’t even make her bat an eyelash. She follows him outside the tent, where he walks right back over to his post. She frowns again when he lifts up the gun and marches straight over to where Bellamy’s given him the signal to get back to work.

“I just told him to avoid using his finger,” she says sternly.

Bellamy looks down at her skeptically. “He’s not incapable of firing a weapon.”

“I don’t care. You can’t tell him to do something I just told him not to.”

The guy looks back at them both out of the corner of his eye, trying to be subtle. Clarke notices, but she ignores him in favor of staring down Bellamy. He shifts his own gun, staring right back. He might be stubborn, but Clarke is iron and steel, and ten seconds later, Bellamy rolls his eyes with a slight groan. “You’re off guard duty,” he barks, then calls up a girl about sixteen to take over. Broken-finger kid hands off the gun with a show of reluctance, but his face tells another story with a degree of relief.

A week later, broken finger kid comes back, wanting Clarke to check on the healing process. She makes a face, doubting it’ll be anywhere close to normal, but the splint needs to be changed properly anyway. A sound of surprise escapes her as she examines it. “It’s healing quicker than I thought. Probably wasn’t a bad break.”

“Can I go back on guard duty now?”

Clarke blinks at him. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Bellamy said to check with you first.”

Her brows furrow. It’s not that she’s mad – the opposite, really. That he’d have sent the kid to check with her first means he values what she thinks about it. “How much does it hurt?” And they run through a few more questions before she tells him he’ll probably be good in another two days. “What’d he say?” she asks, unable to stop her curiosity.

“Uh. ‘Do what Clarke says?’”

Clarke dismisses him without another word and peers out the tent flap after him. She locks eyes with Bellamy, and he offers her a subtle nod. She nods back, and the kid, witness to the exchange, sinks with relief that the both of them are legitimately on the same page.

The next day, two boys come over and practically stomp up inside the ship. Raven takes one look at them, rolls her eyes, then gets back to her own work and leaves it to Clarke. She stares at them both, and when they clam up, she wonders if she’s being too intimidating again. Bellamy comes up after them with a slightly irritated look on his face, which really shouldn’t make Clarke grin, but it does anyway.

“We need you to settle this for us.” And Clarke blinks at them both as they launch into an argumentative tirade that sounds far too childish to need her mediating. She steals a subtle look in Bellamy’s direction, but he just shrugs at her.

“You traded guard duty for some moonshine,” Clarke reiterates, trying to get their story straight. “But now the moonshine is gone?”

“Someone stole it!”

“What’re you, a bunch of tattletales?” Bellamy asks, raising a condescending eyebrow. “How’re we supposed to know who took the goddamn moonshine?”

Clarke sighs over his tone and word choice, but it’s not like he’s wrong. “You’ll have to ask around. If not, it’s not like Monty’s stopped making it.”

“What about guard duty?”

Clarke opens her mouth, but Bellamy interrupts. “You could always both do it.”

They squabble a bit more between themselves, but by the time they make their way back outside, they’ve both come to a truce until the lost moonshine is found. Clarke rolls her eyes. “I thought we were all teenagers, not five year olds.”

Bellamy smirks at her, “Is there much of a difference sometimes?” And then he walks out the door himself. Clarke shakes her head at him as he disappears. Sometimes she forgets he’s not quite the same age as the rest of them.

Raven’s head peers up and over. “Ever thought about a career teaching Kindergarten? Not Bellamy. He’s too much of an ass. Just you.”

“No, thank you,” Clarke grunts, and Raven just chuckles her way back to work.

Chatter, especially with the occasional loud and bickering voices, is standard enough that Clarke has reached a plane of tune out, able to figure out when her attention is needed and when she can continue feigning ignorance. It’s only when she hears gruff frustration from Bellamy does she put down her herbs and leave the drop-ship to investigate.

He’s scolding Jasper, complete with an aggressive hand gesture; it’s not a threat of violence, but Bellamy talks with his hands a lot when he’s agitated. She’s not sure when she realized that as fact. “ – don’t do something so  _stupid_  next time!”

Jasper cringes, looking sufficiently chewed out, but when Clarke glances at Bellamy, he’s ready to open his mouth again. She jogs up quick, her face stern. “Hey! That’s enough!”

They both freeze and look over at her; Bellamy scowls, but Jasper dares to look a little relieved. “He left the gate unlocked and unguarded,” Bellamy growls out. “ _Knowing_  there are Grounders out there keeping tabs on us. The only people we want in here are ours.”

Clarke looks at Jasper with disappointment, and he covers his face with his hands, as if getting that look from her is ten times worse than getting yelled at by Bellamy. “I messed up, okay? I get it. It’s not like it’s happened before!”

“Make sure it never happens again,” Bellamy snaps. “Or you’ll be on the worst cleanup crew and then some for a week.”

“I think he’s got the point, Bellamy,” Clarke says pointedly. Jasper’s shoulders sink with relief, but she turns to him next, and he cringes. “But you’re not entirely off the hook.”

It’s weird, to discuss with Bellamy what sort of reprimand, and even weirder when Jasper only puts up a little bit of a fight. He sulks off in defeat, and she shares a slightly confused glance with Bellamy. She knows people look to them, but this level of obedience is strange when she’s confronted with it so directly. When did she get so good at scolding?

Of course, the scolding only works well when the delinquent is inclined to listen; Octavia is not such a person, and though she’s a lot nicer, she’s every bit as outspoken and rebellious as her brother. Clarke is certain it’s a Blake family trait.

“Do you even see the sky right now?” she says shortly, waving her hand up.

“Every day now,” Octavia hisses, not at all bothered by the prospect of rain or worse.

“I’m postponing the trip, just for a few hours. It’s already been decided.”

“Not by me.”

Clarke sighs, tries to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. She likes Octavia – she really, truly does, but sometimes it feels like she’s argumentative just to be contradictory. Maybe that’s another Blake thing. As if he knows, Bellamy starts over for them, brows furrowed, and Clarke suddenly wants to get this over with before he intervenes. They’re both the ones who made the postponement choice after all.

“You’ve already gotten a cough. You go out in the rain, and it could make it worse, and then you won’t go out at all for who knows how long.”

“I’m not gonna catch a plague!”

“ _Octavia_ , please just stop being difficult.”

“Don’t be such a mom, Clarke,” Octavia says, rolling her eyes.

Clarke just about opens her mouth with a retort that sounds suspiciously like ‘don’t take that tone with me!’ before realizing it’s not going to help her point. She frowns and huffs, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Bellamy arrives, trying to look as though he hasn’t heard the exchange, but there’s no doubt in Clarke’s mind that he’s vividly aware.

“Lemme guess,” Octavia starts, looking over at her brother with an expression that’s both grumpy and amused, “You’re here to dad me too?”

He sputters. His sister is the only one who can do that to him, and if Clarke wasn’t on the verge of a similar reaction, she’d bask in this moment of witness.

“I know my limits, okay? I’m not an idiot,” Octavia continues, glowering at them both.

“It’s not about limits,” Bellamy grunts.

“Sure sounds like it,” she grumbles under her breath.

“Octavia,” Clarke warns, her tone going up a notch in authority. Octavia scowls, but her eyes snap to attention. “You’re not going alone, and no one else is leaving till the storm passes. You’re turning this into a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

She groans, shoulders sinking in defeat. “Fine, whatever,” she sighs, throwing up her hand as she stomps off in annoyance.

Clarke frowns. Bellamy shifts beside her. “She’ll get over it,” he promises.

“Of course she will,” Clarke replies curtly. “She’s not a child.”

None of them are, even if they were young enough when the dropship first landed. But none of these teenagers are children anymore. Not even the ones that aren’t anywhere close to eighteen.

Monty strolls up, stealing a glance at Octavia as she shuffles through the food supply angrily, then glances back and forth between Clarke and Bellamy both. “Uh, this a bad time?”

They look at him in unison, which apparently weirds him out enough to scrunch up his eyebrows. “I can’t tell if that’s a yes or a no.”

“What do you want, Monty?” Clarke sighs.

He rocks on his heels, trying to be casual. “Ingredients. They’re a little hard to get.”

“So… what do you want from me, exactly?” Clarke blinks. It feels a little too much like he’s asking permission, and coming off the tiff with Octavia, she’s not sure she likes it.

“I figured I’d ask, before I go get it. It’s a couple hours away. You’d wanna know, right?”

“Is it that purple plant again?” Bellamy asks, interceding before she has the chance to absorb it all, and Clarke glances at him, if only because this is the first she’s heard of it. But Monty nods, so this is clearly something they’ve gone over together before. Bellamy turns to her. “It’s a trip. I wouldn’t send him alone.”

The conversation feels almost bizarre, discussing Monty’s well-being as though they could truly dictate his options. What’s truly bizarre is that she realizes she actually can, has had that capability for a while. “Do you… need it immediately?” she asks.

Monty taps his chin. “Hmmmno, not right now. Definitely by the end of the week, but I thought it’d be easier to prepare ahead of time.”

She shares another look with Bellamy, the silent exchange fluent and quick. They already cancelled one trip; sending out another would be in poor taste and poor decision. “Monty –” Clarke starts, knowing she and Bellamy are on the same page.

Octavia huffs up from across the way, glowering mostly at her brother. “If I can’t go, Monty can’t go!”

“No one is going!” Clarke snaps without thinking, her voice carrying across the air a little louder than she’d intended. Several people look over. “I don’t want any of us getting caught out in that storm!”

Monty holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and Octavia hmphs, but she’s pleased. As the two of them walk off, they make plans to combine both their trips into one.

Once the focus shifts away from her, Clarke’s shoulders sink and she exhales.

Raven sidles up beside her, watching Monty and Octavia conspire as everyone around them shuffles back to their jobs. “You sure you don’t wanna be a kindergarten teacher?” She pauses a second, her lips dancing with a grin. “Or a mom?”

“Raven, I swear to god,” she starts, and Bellamy smirks at them.

“Oh, don’t think you’re getting out of it any easier, dad,” Raven adds, dancing her fingers up his arm to his shoulder, where she pinches his cheek and rushes off before he can retaliate.

He scowls anyway, and the disgruntled look on his face is almost enough to make Clarke laugh. She meets his eyes though, and the laugh is silenced in her throat, which abruptly closes tight. The sky opens up with perfect timing, saving her and him both the awkward, and they brush off anything else as they slip back into leader mode.

Everyone except those on guard duty scrambles for cover, into the dropship or a tent, but Clarke and Bellamy scurry around, getting soaked through as they make sure the rest of the teenagers get shelter first. Bellamy promises reprieve for those caught on guard duty, shortening the shifts as long as the winds and rain keeps up.

By the time Clarke finally makes it back to her own tent, Bellamy’s on her heels, making sure she gets in too. “I know how to work a tent flap,” she says, still standing in the pouring rain, her clothes drenched and she’s starting to shiver.

“Then you better get on that and prove it, Princess,” he retorts, gesturing at the tent before jogging off towards his own.

As Clarke slips inside, she sighs with relief at getting out of the storm, but her brain spares a moment to idly wonder if her mother has ever felt like herding cats was part of the job - whether it’s the motherhood job or chancellor job, Clarke isn’t going to give herself time to decide.

**Author's Note:**

> there are probably never too many 'bellarke parents of the 100 fics' tbh


End file.
